


Favors

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [47]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the fic_promptly five times fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne/Rodney McKay, 5 times Evan did something nice for Rodney (and the one time Rodney returned the favor)."





	Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



**One.**

Someone knocked at Rodney’s door. He frowned, thought it open. “What?”

“Delivery for you, Doc,” Major Lorne said.

Rodney twisted to look over his shoulder. “For me?” No one from Earth sent him care packages. And why was Major Lorne making deliveries? That was more fitting for baby Marines, wasn’t it?

“I need you to sign for it.” Lorne was standing in the hallway, a couple of Marines with him.

Rodney sighed, irritated, and stood up, crossed his quarters.

Lorne held out a datapad and a stylus. Rodney scrawled his signature. 

“What is it?”

“A prescription mattress,” Lorne said.

That gave Rodney pause. He’d put in a request for one multiple times and been denied. “Oh. I thought -”

“Where do you want it?” Lorne stepped aside, and the two Marines shuffled through the doorway, mattress in hand.

“On my bed,” Rodney said. “Wait. I didn’t realize - I need to get rid of the old mattress.”

“Here, let me help.” 

Lorne moved to the other side of Rodney’s bed, and together they stripped off the covers and sheets, set them aside, and lifted the mattress aside. Then Lorne helped the Marines situate the new mattress under Rodney’s direction. The Marines departed with the old mattress, and Lorne helped Rodney remake the bed. He even did hospital corners, which Rodney had never figured out. They were probably required by the military.

“Sweet dreams, Doc,” Lorne said, and departed.

As soon as the door closed, Rodney sprawled out on his blissfully comfortable mattress and figured the squeaky wheel had finally gotten the grease.

  
  


**Two.**

Rodney turned the corner, datapad in one hand, mug of coffee in the other. He still hadn’t figured out what had gone wrong with Project Arcturus. Even though he’d never get a shot at it again, he wanted to consider the numbers, maybe try his own version without the Ancient generator (which had exploded anyway). Exotic particles were always a concern, but -

He crashed into a Marine.

“Hey, watch it,” the Marine snapped. He was covered in coffee.

Rodney was also covered in coffee. “Watch yourself,” he snapped back.

Fury flared in the Marine’s eyes.

Lorne said, “Stand down, Corporal.”

The Marine took a step back, his expression blank but anger still bright in his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes, sir.”

“It was a careless mistake on both your parts,” Lorne said, and Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Lorne continued. “Get back into an appropriate uniform. McKay, with me.”

“I’m not one of your jarheads,” Rodney said, but he followed Lorne anyway.

The Marine spun on his heel and headed for a transporter.

Lorne led Rodney to the kitchens.

“What are we doing?”

“Give me your shirt,” Lorne said.

Rodney stared at him. “Wait, what?”

Lorne shrugged off his jacket, held it out. “Before the stain sets in.”

“Oh, right.” Rodney, feeling more than a little self-conscious, peeled off his damp and sticky shirt. 

Lorne handed him a damp washcloth, and Rodney wiped off his chest, and then he pulled the jacket on. Lorne turned away and began filling a bowl with warm water. Rodney watched, intrigued, as Lorne mixed some dishwashing detergent and vinegar into a bowl. Lorne dunked Rodney’s uniform shirt in the bowl and left it there, spun one of the bezels on his fancy military wristwatch.

“What now?” Rodney asked.

“Gotta let it soak for fifteen minutes before we toss it into the laundry. Should get the stain out, though.” Lorne leaned against the counter and scooped up a nearby datapad, set to working.

After a moment, Rodney did the same. Lorne handed him some paper towels so he could wipe the coffee off of his datapad, and they worked in silence until the shirt was done soaking.

“I’ll take this to the laundry. You better go get another shirt,” Lorne said. “Someone will deliver the shirt when it’s done.”

“Thanks,” Rodney said absently, fluttered his fingers in farewell as Lorne left the kitchens.

A couple of days later, his shirt was returned, clean and bright like new. Rodney was grateful, because getting new uniforms was a pain even with the  _ Daedalus _ making delivery runs.

  
  


**Three.**

“What’s up, Doc?” Lorne pushed a mug of coffee across the workbench.

Rodney scooped it up, took a sip. “Sheppard’s not answering my radio calls.”

“Is it urgent?” Lorne asked, reaching for his own radio.

“I need someone to initiate this device for me.” Rodney gestured to the silver cuboid on the workbench.

“I have the Gene,” Lorne said.

Rodney looked at him. “You do?”

“You’ve seen me pilot a jumper, right?”

“Right,” Rodney said. He nudged the device toward Lorne.

Lorne reached out, waved a hand over it, and it lit up.

Rodney immediately aimed one of the energy scanners at it. “Finally.”

“You’re welcome, Doc. Need me to stick around, or -?”

Rodney waved him away, already focused on repairing the damaged circuits, and heard the lab doors hiss open and then hiss closed.

The device ended up being a medical scanner, and Rodney was pleased that he’d managed to get it fully functional again.

  
  


**Four.**

Rodney was sitting on one of the couches in one of the common rooms, a stack of science journals beside him and a fistful of highlighters to hand, but he couldn’t quite get into the first article.

He sighed, scrubbed a hand at the side of his neck.

“You all right, Doc?”

Rodney turned and saw Lorne standing in the doorway, datapad in hand. The man was either shooting things or doing paperwork all the time. Rodney wondered if he slept with his pistol and datapad.

“Just have a headache. Which of course makes me nauseous and unable to eat which then makes me have more headaches.”

“You gone to the infirmary for some aspirin?”

“A thousand times. It doesn’t help.”

Lorne came to stand behind him. “Do you trust me?”

Rodney peered up at him. “Why?”

“I know some basic acupressure. Might help.”

While Rodney was pretty sure that someone prodding at his big toe would not rescue his gallbladder, he knew that acupuncture could help with pain relief.

Lorne rubbed his hands together.

“What are you doing?”

“My hands might be cold,” Lorne said. “If the muscles in your neck are tense, they can cause headaches.”

“So you’re offering me a neck rub,” Rodney said, and that actually didn’t sound so bad.

“No rubbing, just a bit of gentle pressure in some key points along your muscles. Tip your head forward.”

Rodney eyed Lorne for a moment. The man seemed sincere. Rodney closed his eyes and obediently tipped his head forward. Lorne’s hands were warm, dry, his fingertips tentative as they traced along Rodney’s neck muscles at the base of his skull. 

“I’m going to start here at your occipital ridge,” Lorne said, his voice low.

He didn’t press hard, but he pressed his thumbs in a little. Then he slid his fingers toward Rodney’s ears and pressed again, and Rodney felt happy tingles down his spine.

“Gonna slide up your suboccipital muscles a bit,” Lorne continued. “This all right? Not too weird?”

“If you stop I’ll kill you,” Rodney said, because the tingles were warm and delicious, and he could feel the pain in his skull easing.

Lorne chuckled softly. “All right. I’m going to go up and down your sternocleidomastoid muscle next.”

Lorne’s fingertips walking up and down Rodney’s neck muscles from ears to collarbones felt amazing. There was also something kind of intimate about him touching Rodney’s ears, but he didn’t care, because his headache was fading.

“Better?” Lorne drew his hands away. 

“Much.” Rodney lifted his head, opened his eyes. “Thanks, Major. That wasn’t complete hocus-pocus after all.”

“Any time, Doc.” Lorne waved and walked away.

The next time Rodney had a headache, he wondered if Lorne really had meant  _ any time. _

  
  


**Five.**

“You have two options, Dr. McKay,” the Genii minion said. “Either you come with us peacefully and serve us, teach us your weapons technology, or this man dies.”

Two more Genii minions had guns trained on Major Lorne, who’d come through the gate with the rest of his team for SAR and walked into an ambush.

Lorne had his hands raised in surrender, but he said, “Don’t do it, Doc.”

His teammates wore furious expressions.

Rodney swallowed hard. “No. I won’t -”

One of the minions fired.

Lorne hit the ground, lifeless. Blood spread across the fabric of his uniform. He’d been shot in the thigh. The minion must have hit his femoral artery. He was going to die.

“Wait,” Rodney said. “Get a medic for him. Please. I’ll go with you. I -”

The first minion gestured, and one of the other minions knelt, checked Lorne’s pulse.

Lorne launched himself upward with a roar, grabbed the minion and rolled them. There was shouting and cursing and then Lorne had the minion’s pistol, opened fire. The rest of his teammates turned on their captors, and gunfire exploded all around.

Rodney hit the deck, covering his head. A moment later, someone was on top of him, shielding him. Rodney smelled blood and sweat. He opened his eyes, saw Lorne hovering over him, aiming his pistol at another Genii minion. Blood was dripping down his thigh, and his face was white and drawn with pain - and fury.

“Move another inch and I will shoot you,” Lorne said.

The minion looked at him for a long moment. Then his face twisted into a sneer, and he lunged for the DHD.

Lorne emptied his magazine into the minion before he hit the ground.

Rodney stared, appalled, heart thumping. He’d almost died. Lorne and his teammates had almost died. Instead they’d killed a dozen men. Sure those men had almost killed Rodney, but -

Lorne caught the edge of the DHD, hauled himself to his feet. He started to dial the address to Atlantis, but then he stumbled. One of his teammates caught him. Another finished dialing, and the third sent off his IDC. The fourth helped Rodney to his feet.

The wormhole established, bright and clear and blue, perfect.

“C’mon, Doc,” Lorne said. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Rodney echoed.

  
  


**And One.**

Being stuck in the infirmary was boring. Rodney hadn’t been seriously injured. Sure, he’d been smacked on the head, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t passed out, and if he had, it had only been or a second. He’d had his feet the entire time, he was sure.

But Carson insisted he stay for overnight observation anyway, because he’d been concussed.

Rodney was in the bed beside Lorne’s. His wound had been a through-and-through, hadn’t hit any major arteries or vessels or organs or muscles, and he was slated to recover just fine, or so Carson had told him.

His voice carried in the infirmary. Rodney hadn’t been eavesdropping at all on his conversation with Lorne.

“Major,” Carson had said, lowering his voice (but not enough), “do you want to talk to anyone? About having to fire your weapon.”

“No, Doc, but thanks. I’m fine,” Lorne had assured him, even though his leg was still in a cast.

“If you change your mind -”

“I’ll let Heightmeyer know.”

“Of course.” And Carson had patted his hand and bustled away.

Lorne had refused all pain meds, had fallen asleep without them. Rodney was impressed at the man’s fortitude, but then he started moving in his sleep, tossing his head, obviously in pain.

He started to shift, and then he came awake with a soft cry, clutching at his injured leg. “Dammit.”

Rodney eased out of his own bed, dragged a chair over to Lorne’s. “Hey. You want me to get the Carson for some morphine or something?” That was what battlefield medics used, right?

Lorne shook his head. His face was white with pain, sweat beading on his brow.

“You got shot. Obviously it hurts. No one’s going to judge you for wanting to -”

“My father overdosed on heroin after he served in Vietnam. My mother says it ran in the family. Not gonna risk it.”

“Oh.” Rodney thought quickly. “What about some aspirin or something?”

Lorne gritted his teeth. “It’ll be fine. I just have to lie very still.”

“...Want some of Radek’s secret stash of homemade becherovka?”

“Not while I’m injured and suffered blood loss, but thanks, Doc.”

Rodney hated feeling helpless and useless like this. “Do you want a bedtime story?”

And finally Lorne smiled. “That’s not a half bad idea, actually. You have a nice voice.”

“Really? No one’s ever said that before.” But Rodney straightened up, cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a princess named Meredith, and she was a very bright princess, very brilliant, but her wicked mother was jealous of her brilliance and locked her in a high tower.”

Lorne lay back, closed his eyes. “Meredith. That’s a pretty name. Originally a last name, and then a boy’s name after that, but - pretty. If I knew a girl named Meredith, I’d call her Merry, if she’d let me.”

No one had ever said that to Rodney either. He reached out, patted Lorne’s hand tentatively. 

“Unfortunately, Princess Meredith’s mother wasn’t nearly as brilliant, so she left lots and lots of important scientific, er, scrolls in the tower for Meredith to read, and tools to work with, and a piano so Meredith could sing and make music while she waited for genius epiphanies. One day, while Meredith was singing and playing the piano, a knight happened to ride past on a gallant white steed. The knight, named -” Rodney thought quickly - “Ian stopped to listen to her song.”

“Ian. Scottish variant of the Welsh Evan and the Irish Sean and the English John.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you know so much about names?”

“Nana Lorne is Scottish. She believed in fairies and stuff. Names are magic.”

“How?”

“If you know someone’s true name, you have power over them.”

“What’s your true name?” Rodney asked.

“Evan Alexander Lorne.”

It was an ordinary name, but Rodney liked the sound of it. “Should you be giving your true name away like that?”

“I can trust you with it.” Lorne sighed and burrowed down against his pillow a bit more. “So, how are Sir Ian and Princess Meredith going to work together to help Princess Meredith escape the tower?”

“What? Oh, right, the story.” Rodney rambled on, building an adventure cobbled out of AR-1’s experiences, a comic book he’d read as a kid, and the single D&D game he’d played in college.

Lorne was asleep before Rodney got to the second phase of Sir Ian’s knightly quest.

Rodney sat beside him and watched him sleep, made sure his breathing was easy. He went to go back to his own bed, but something stopped him. He looked down and saw that sometime during the story, he’d curled his hand through Lorne’s, and their fingers were intertwined. They were holding hands. 

Maybe it would help Lorne sleep, if when his leg started to hurt he could squeeze Rodney’s hand. It wasn’t like Lorne would break his hand. Getting shot in the leg wasn’t nearly as bad as having a baby or something, right? Rodney had heard all kinds of horror stories of men whose wives had broken their hands during childbirth.

Rodney tugged the blanket off of his own bed, scooted a little closer to Lorne, and rested his head on Lorne’s mattress.

Before he fell asleep, he whispered, “My true name is Meredith Rodney McKay.” He squeezed Lorne’s hand gently.

Deep in dreams, Lorne smiled.


End file.
